


Seine Pflicht erkennen und tun, das ist die Hauptsache

by aus_der_traum



Category: World War II - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Nazisploitation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:08:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aus_der_traum/pseuds/aus_der_traum
Summary: There’s always a narcissistic note to attraction.





	Seine Pflicht erkennen und tun, das ist die Hauptsache

It has been argued there’s always a narcissistic note to attraction. We want what we ourselves aspire to be. We fall for kindred spirits and congenial souls. We desire what we see as a reflection of ourselves, these strangely perfect mirror-selves, the same in the other. For Jochen, things are no different. There is Sigurd of course, first and foremost. But there are others too. Admiration comes in more flavours than one, and so does love.

It is impossible not to see that it’s their likeness that draws him in: the thin hard line of his lips, the determined set of his jaw, the cold steely gaze, the proud, upright posture. There is nothing soft about Hermann Prieß. He’s the epitome of a Prussian officer, stern and hard and loyal, and Jochen aspires to that. He wants to be like him. He wants to be him. He wants him. And so he offers.

They’re only small gestures, services way below his station. An officer of Jochen’s rank isn’t supposed to take his superior’s uniform cap or pour him drinks, not like that, and the inappropriateness doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s an infinitesimal shift in Prieß’ expression, a barely noticeable twist of his lips, a slight arch of an eyebrow. But he still lets Jochen help him out of his coat and hands his cap to put away and has him pour him a drink, as if it was perfectly normal to expect such services of him.

It’s only a logical next step that he allows him to take off his boots too, and Jochen kneels, like a good manservant would, or a dutiful wife, and he swallows hard at the thought. He should not dwell on such silly notions, they’re still soldiers, comrades, Volksgenossen, the difference in rank is a necessity not natural order, and yet– 

When he looks up and meets Prieß’ stare he knows it’s not just his imagination running wild. His behaviour is unseemly and naturally, Prieß has picked up on it.

“What do you want?” he asks while Jochen is still on his knees before him, as if Jochen’s position left any doubt about his intentions. As if the request was not written all over his face. But of course he needs to hear it, this confession of Jochen’s degenerate desires. He can’t simply assume.

Jochen bites his tongue. Bites his lip. Digs his own teeth into his flesh until he tastes blood. It’s his last chance to make excuses but he feels is already too late. There’s no escaping the truth now. Prieß’ gaze has him pinned to the spot.

“I want to serve you,” he says. It’s barely more than a whisper but to Jochen’s own ears it reveals everything: his desperation, his desire, his depravity.

Not a muscle is moving in Prieß’ face. The dim light casts shadows over his features. They gather in the hollows of his cheeks and lend him an appearance of hunger. His cheekbones look even sharper like that, his eyes even sterner. The seconds tick by and Jochen is holding his breath as the suspense becomes intolerable.

“So what is it that you offer?” Prieß says at last.

Now this is the hardest part. Jochen closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath before he answers. He has to remind himself he isn’t a boy anymore. He’s a soldier, a high ranking officer, and his offer is born as much from duty as it is from lust. He leans in to touch Prieß’ knee, the inner seam of his breeches leading up to his crotch. He imagines Prieß’ cock, nestled behind the thick wool in a thatch of fair hair, and a flash of heat surges up from his guts.

His voice is low but steady when he answers. “My mouth, if you want it.”

He half expects Prieß’ self-control to slip, just for a moment. For a low, humourless laugh or a fit of temper, a slap to his face, for any reaction at all, but nothing changes in his expression. It’s every bit as blank as it was before and a shiver of foreboding runs down Jochen’s spine. Perhaps he miscalculated. For a split second the things Prieß could do to him tumble through his mind. But then Prieß reaches out to touch his head, much like one would pat a favourite dog, cups his skull in the palm of his hand, and the tension melts and fades away. All Jochen wants is lean into this touch, be a good boy, just follow orders for once. Forget all the terror and blood shed.

“What makes you think I would want that?” Prieß asks, but there’s no sharpness in his voice, only curiosity.

“I thought you would appreciate a moment of calm,” Jochen says, too aware it’s what he himself is after: to rid himself of the burden of responsibility for a while. To forget about the men he sent to their death. To forget about the men who are going to die following his orders, tomorrow, or the day after that, or a year from now. As long as he is in command, as long as this war goes on, they will suffer and die at his request, and he’s so tired of it. So very tired.

Perhaps the mirror works both ways, or perhaps Prieß just understands how much Jochen needs this because he draws him in and lets him have what he wants. He allows him to mouth hungrily at his crotch and press his lips against the outline of his cock, which is still soft and limp, disinterested in Jochen’s attentions. He even opens his belt for him and takes it out, holds it for him to lap at and suck into his mouth, and Jochen does just that: worships his cock with his tongue and lips until it swells and stiffens and once it’s fully erect, thick and hard and proud, he makes himself gag on it. He forces himself to slide his lips up and down and up and down, further and further each time, until he’s managed to swallow him down. Until his nose is buried in the coarse curls of Prieß’ pubic hair and his musk is filling his nostrils and he can’t breathe. His own spit trickles down his chin but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even use his free hand to paw at his own erection, hanging stiff and heavy between his legs. He focuses all his attention solely on Prieß’ pleasure, eager to make as good a job of it as he possibly can.

He’s feeling light-headed before there’s the first hint of salt on his tongue but he doesn’t pause or struggle, not even when Prieß’ fingers curl more tightly against his skull, guiding him into a rhythm. He lets himself be used, sliding his lips up and down the thick shaft, tongue pressed against the underside of Prieß’ erection, wet and warm, and tries not to think too much about how hard this makes him and how his own untouched cock is leaking precome just from sucking his superior’s prick. He fails miserably but it’s still better than dwelling on mental images of the torn-up bodies of his comrades, scattered on the battlefield. The dizziness is keeping those pictures at bay. Nothing matters but the thick fat cock in his mouth and the throbbing of his own erection. He will take care of it later, he thinks, and sucks harder and then, finally, Prieß goes rigid, his fingertips bruising against his scalp, and his cock twitches on Jochen’s tongue, pulses. And then his mouth is flooded with come, thick and salty as blood and he swallows it all, every last drop of it, while Prieß holds his head in an iron grip to make sure nothing goes to waste.

It seems to take hours until he lets go of him.

“Well done,” he murmurs and he gives him a light pat on the head while Jochen tries to catch his breath, enough at least to be able to stumble back to his feet, but for the time being he can do nothing but pant and kneel at his master’s feet like a good boy, his heart-beat thundering in his ears. It’s as close to oblivion as he could have asked for, under the circumstances. For one glorious moment there’s nothing on his mind but the blissful certainty of having fulfilled his duty.

~

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr.  
> Sequels by Alecto: [Das lebhafteste Vergnügen, das ein Mensch in der Welt haben kann ist, neue Wahrheiten zu entdecken](https://wir-kommen-wieder.tumblr.com/post/185124365252), [Lerne leiden ohne zu klagen](https://wir-kommen-wieder.tumblr.com/post/185124406772/lerne-leiden-ohne-zu-klagen) and [Jedem das Seine](https://wir-kommen-wieder.tumblr.com/post/185370712132/jedem-das-seine)...


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